


The Bard Deserves Better

by NerdyBirdy6602



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Episode Fix-It: s01e06 Rare Species, Eventual Happy Ending, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Roach Has the Brain Cell (The Witcher), Roach Ships It (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26325745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdyBirdy6602/pseuds/NerdyBirdy6602
Summary: The mountain... that dreaded mountain where Geralt's frustrations finally came to a head. He'd shouted, and Jaskier could do nothing but stand there and take it. He'd thought, after all these years Geralt had at least come to tolerate his presence. He thought all the scowls and grunts were just jest. Now, though, everything was crystal clear.Jaskier knew when he wasn't wanted.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 351





	The Bard Deserves Better

Jaskier sat back on the rocky cliff and watched Geralt and Yennefer have their lovers’ quarrel… At least, that’s what he gathered from it. He really tried not to eavesdrop, but he still heard scraps of information that only confused him further. The Witcher’s draw to the sorceress had felt unnatural ever since the bout with the Djinn. Then again, everything about Geralt was unconventional. Why should his love life have followed any other pattern?

He rose to his feet, watching Yennefer storm away. Tears streamed down her fair cheeks and Jaskier only assumed that Geralt had done something pig-headed, something that often came with the Witcher’s poor social skills. Jaskier might often feel uneasy near her, but that didn’t mean he wished to see her in pain. He knew the way the Witcher’s words could sting, but he also knew that was just how the man was: Blunt and to the point. He glanced between her and Geralt, and contemplated if it was even his place to comfort a woman, a dangerous woman for that matter, he barely knew. Glancing back at Geralt, he watched Borch try to provide some words of wisdom, or perhaps comfort, but the Witcher was having none of it. Jaskier inched closer as they spoke of legacies and destinies.

As Borch left the Witcher to think on this, Jaskier tried to do what he does best: Lighten the mood. Playfully, he called out, “Whoo, what a day! I imagine you're probably won—”

“Damn it, Jaskier!” The Witcher burst out, finally having turned to face the bard. His yellow eyes were seething with frustration and, from what Jaskier could tell, tinged with heartbreak. The man continued his tirade, shouting, “Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you, shovelling it?!”

Jaskier felt his heart sink down to his feet. Geralt blamed all of this on him, because of course it was his fault. All these years, he assumed the Witcher’s mocking and teasing was just a game between them. He thought, at least, Geralt tolerated his endless singing and chatter. What if it was all just a hint he wasn’t taking? What if Geralt had wanted him gone from day one? He wasn’t sure if his heart could take such rejection.

“That’s not fair,” he whispered, weakly trying to deny the claim.

“The Child Surprise, the Djinn, all of it!” Geralt bellowed, teeth bared so Jaskier could see the slightest hint of the Witcher’s fangs. He was surely intimidated, and immensely hurt, but not scared. This was a man he trusted and considered his friend. No matter how furious he became, Geralt would never hurt him… at least not physically. The verbal assault continued as the man growled, “If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”

And there it was, the answer to Jaskier’s every doubt. The more the bard thought about it, the more his eyes welled up with tears. What benefit was there to travelling with him? He was weaker than Geralt so they stopped more frequently, thus slowing down the Witcher along his Path. The bard spoke too much and didn’t provide much more than a few extra orens for a room at the nearest inn. Some coins didn’t nearly outweigh the burden he provided. Every situation Geralt brought up did, in one way or another, lead back to the bard’s influence. He forced Geralt to dress like a nobleman at Queen Calanthe’s gala just so Jaskier could stay out of trouble and, secretly, he wanted the Witcher to see him in his element, lute in hand and performing before a grateful crowd. As for the Djinn, there was no excuse except Jaskier’s own ignorance and selfish desires. He played with fire, and he burned himself and his friend. He really had become a burden.

“Right… uh…”

What else could he say? It wouldn’t fix what he’d done. Jaskier couldn’t offer anything that could heal his friend’s broken heart, or undo his own mistakes. An apology might be a start, but judging by the hatred in Geralt’s eyes, it would only rub salt in the wound. He waited a moment, trying to keep his emotions in check so he didn’t do something embarrassing like sob in front of the White Wolf.

“Alright then. I’ll… I’ll go get the rest of the story from the others.”

He didn’t care about the story anymore, that much must have been obvious. His heart lay bare to Geralt, and it felt as though he had crushed it to dust. Suddenly, his life’s dream of becoming a renowned bard felt hollow. He had his name and reputation because of the famous Geralt of Rivia, but it didn’t feel worth it. The man was more than the source of his fame. Jaskier had thought they were friends, but he supposed he was wrong. It was merely Jaskier’s disillusioned mind that led him to believe it.

He waited a moment longer, part of him begging Geralt to stop him. He didn’t want to be sent away, even if he knew he deserved it. He was selfish, even to the bitter end. The silence runs between them, Jaskier unable to even read his face for a sign that this was only an outburst, not their final goodbye. Geralt would make some resigned grunt as he always did, and let him back in to tell his narrative. He opens his mouth, ready to beg for his place at his side, but nothing leaves his mouth. Jaskier fumbled for words, until he finally bit out, “See you around, Geralt.”

If only Jaskier could have seen the pang of regret on Geralt’s face once he said those words. Alas, Jaskier only trudged slowly up the trail, ignoring the rest of the party who called his name, asking about the state of the Witcher. Jaskier, usually so bright and bubbly, kept his head low as he dragged himself forward. He wasn’t even sure where he would go after here. Finding another muse to travel with seemed pointless. He could return to Oxenfurt, but he wasn’t sure he was in the proper headspace to teach new pupils when he seemed so lost in the world himself.

He raised a hand to his cheek and frowned quizzically as it came away damp. In frustration, he scrubbed roughly at his own eyes. Jaskier didn’t need another example of his own weakness trailing down his face. The skin, once pale around his eyes, was now scratched out into a bright red. Jaskier felt his anger consume him, not at Geralt and his cruel words, but at his own need to feel validated and wanted. It wasn’t the world’s job to make him feel wanted, but still he cried at the unfairness of it all. Eventually, he stopped trying to fight it and instead gave himself a moment’s rest. He took what little comfort he could find under the shade of a tree and succumbed to his own sobs.

It took him a long while, longer than it took them to get to the dragon’s lair in the first place, but he finally made it back to where Roach had been tied along with the other horses. Jaskier looked like a man who had walked through Hell’s gates and back, so the stable hands knew better than to converse with him. The bard was exhausted, both mentally and emotionally, as he stared at the last tie he had to his adventures. He supposed he should say goodbye to the horse too, even if the crotchety old thing had never taken a liking to him. Jaskier took a tentative step forward and held out a gentle hand to Roach’s mane. The horse snorted, but did little else to react.

“Hey there, old girl,” he rasped, his throat aching from his own tears hours before. “I’m sure you’ll be glad to see me gone, hm? No one will sing obnoxiously loud in your ear as we travel. You’ll finally get some peace and quiet, just like you deserve.”

He laughed, but the sound was hollow. Jaskier didn’t do goodbyes. When he had once left his parent’s estate as Julian Alfred Pankratz, fleeing from his responsibility as a nobleman, he didn’t say goodbye. He had only faded away into the night, leaving no trace he had ever been there. To him, his critical parents hadn’t deserved closure after chasing their son away.

And Geralt… well, “see you around” didn’t have the note of finality “goodbye” did. He was in denial, expecting to see Geralt again one day when tempers had cooled. It was foolish, surely, but Jaskier had always been a bit of an optimist. Yet, as he stared at Roach’s mane, he couldn’t see the glimmer of a silver lining there. There was no winning this time, at least not for him.

“Take care of my Witcher, hm? He… The world needs him, Roach, even if the world is too blinded to see it. I hope one day he finds peace, and I hope you do too. Farewell.”

Jaskier took his last apple, meant for himself for later, and held it out for the horse. She glanced at Jaskier, almost apprehensive, before she sank her teeth into the sweet treat. Jaskier pat her neck fondly, feeling his eyes tear up again. He damned his emotions, trying to ignore his own heart ache just long enough to leave his sorrow behind. Once out of sight, he hoped it would soon be out of mind with the help of some ale from the nearest inn and a mistress of the night from a local whorehouse.

The bard double-checked his belongings, sifting through his satchel to find his essentials for travelling alone. His face paled, however, when it occurs to him that he is missing his most prized possession: The beloved lute. Jaskier was given that lute by Filavandrel all those years ago. Though the strings had needed to be replaced over time, the body of the lute remained the same. It wasn’t the only lute he’d ever owned, but it did hold the most sentimental value. In his haste, he’d left it behind with the White Wolf who, with his luck, burned it to use as firewood. He felt his face growing hot with embarrassment and found his cheeks damp yet again.

“The lute…” Jaskier choked out.

Roach neighed and pressed her damp nose against Jaskier’s shoulder in an attempt at comfort. Whether by coincidence or on purpose, it also pushed him in the direction of Geralt and the abandoned lute. Jaskier shook his head and wiped his eyes with a small smile as he admitted, “I can’t go back there, Roach. By the time I returned to camp, Geralt will have probably dashed it against the rocks.”

“I haven’t.”

Jaskier nearly jumped out of his skin, twirling to face the Witcher he had been lamenting holding out the precious lute. The man’s burning gold eyes met cornflower blue, and Jaskier nearly lost all composure. He was ready to go to his knees and beg for his best friend back. Instead, he silently took the precious lute and bowed his sorry head.

“Thank you,” he said, barely above a whisper. If he went any louder, he knew he would cry pathetically before him. “I’ll… I’ll be going.”

Geralt’s eyes widened, but only slightly, as he gave his classic grunt in response. He mounted Roach and settled himself in the saddle as Jaskier trudged off. Geralt took hold of the reins and gave her a squeeze as cue to set off in the opposite direction.

Or… that was what Geralt intended, anyway.

What happened in actuality was that Roach insisted on following Jaskier’s trail. No matter what Geralt did to indicate that this was exactly what he didn’t want, Roach carried on following the bard at a slow walk. Geralt actually growled, “What the fuck has gotten into you?”

This is what caught Jaskier’s attention which led him to face Roach nose-to-nose. He looked up at Geralt, his eyes betraying how much hope he had that he would change his mind. Jaskier was clearly misty-eyed, biting his lip to hold back tears. His legs wobbled on unsteady feet, and his whole body was exhausted.

“Roach misses you,” the Witcher stated bluntly.

The bard looked up, brow furrowed. Jaskier was expecting another moment of chastising, or for Geralt simply to run him over. He opened his mouth to speak, but he only opened and closed it much like the fish Roach was named for. Jaskier, known for chattering for hours on end, became utterly speechless.

“Jaskier…” Geralt began, but he was at a loss as well. He looked frustrated, but it was much more muted. The man had some time to think over his accusations, and, although he would never admit it, he was attached to the bard. At that moment, Jaskier was the only available person to blame besides himself.

Jaskier took a deep breath, and then finally whispered, “Can’t you just tell me?”

Geralt made a wordless motion of confusion as he cocked his head to the side. When Jaskier only stared, ready to bawl, Geralt sighed and dismounted. The least he could do is give a conversation face to face, rather than standing above him pretentiously. Through his Witcher senses, he felt Jaskier’s heart beating like a hummingbird’s wing and heard him practically hyperventilating. To try and ease some tension, he asked, “What should I tell you, bard?”

Jaskier’s voice broke as he whimpered, “Just tell me you want me out of your way! And… and then I’ll leave. I’ll stop writing your songs. I won’t rope you in to another convoluted gala, or ruin your chances at peace. I’ll… I’ll stop being your burden to carry. You’ll never have to hear another ridiculous story, or another ballad. You won’t have to see my face and… and…”

Jaskier couldn’t continue. A lump grew in his throat, and all he could do was cry. He hugged himself tightly, the doublet biting into his skin as he tried to keep himself from falling apart. He braced for the words, for Geralt to officially send him off. There would be no excuse or any room for misunderstanding. It would just be… finality. A true goodbye.

Geralt of Rivia felt regret bubbling in his chest. Jaskier had been with him so long, he couldn’t remember a long, quiet journey. In fact, the thought of a travel void of song or tall tales felt eerie. The thought of travelling without Jaskier was almost unthinkable. Yet, here the bard was, asking Geralt to dismiss him.

“I don’t keep travelling partners,” he started slowly, watching Jaskier squeeze his eyes shut like the words were a knife being twisted into his gut. He continued, “My work is dangerous, as you’ve seen. Humans aren’t meant for that life. I shouldn’t have invited you to the Path. That was my error, not yours.”

Jaskier heard, more than felt, his own heart break. Geralt was giving him the world’s oldest break up line, essentially saying “It’s not you, it’s me.” If this were any other circumstance, he would have laughed heartily. Now, however, he felt downright empty. The husk of Jaskier could only nod his head mutely.

“But to neglect the fact that I have indeed invited you is also a slight towards you,” Geralt admitted gently. “And to forget that I have made a cherished friend along the Path is nearly unforgivable. You have my apologies, Jaskier. I can’t tell you what you need to hear. The most I can do is offer ale at the nearest tavern.”

Jaskier’s teary eyes rose to meet Geralt’s and butterflies rattled in his stomach. He felt utterly elated that he wasn’t being sent away, but there was a nagging part of his brain that was angry. Rather than accept the apology, he questioned it.

“You said it would be a blessing for me to get off your hands. You decided I was the cause of all your problems. You can’t… Humans aren’t your toys! You don’t get to throw away the people that care about you once you tire of them. It’s not fair, Geralt. You… you hurt me. Kind words and alcohol don’t make that disappear!”

Jaskier was shaking where he stood and the tears continually flowed down his cheeks. He bit his lip until he could taste the metallic bite of blood. The bard wanted to take the apology and run off into the sunset with Geralt, but he had to know Geralt wouldn’t toss him away later. His heart couldn’t take it again.

After a moment of consideration, Geralt rested a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. His eyes… Those expressive eyes showed the obvious regret and sorrow he harbored in his heart. The golden orbs glowed with empathy, something Jaskier once thought to be impossible. A Witcher couldn’t feel, or so the legends told. The bard knew better, having travelled with him for so long. Geralt’s language of care was action, just as Jaskier’s manner was poetic verse. The Witcher was often the one to keep the ale flowing. In every inn, should there only be a single bed, it would automatically fall to Jaskier. On the rare occasion Geralt allowed them to share, then the bard would often wake to Geralt in a protective stance, even in sleep. Strong, muscular arms shielded Jaskier from any harm, just as they would in his waking hours.

Perhaps that’s what love truly was.

“I know I hurt you, Jaskier. I was fueled by rage and every other person I should have directed my anger at was gone. Borch left me only with cryptic advice. Yen is…” Geralt looked away, unable to finish the sentence. He cleared his throat and muttered, “I need someone to stay. You deserve better than a monster scorned by humanity, but will you have me?”

Jaskier’s heart melted, and his lips grew into an easy smile. Without another word, Jaskier bypassed the hand on his shoulder and went in for a tight hug. Geralt tensed up in surprise, and then slowly eased into the embrace. The bard had forgiven him now, but he knew that Geralt needed to hear it. This was Jaskier they were talking about. Verbal acceptance was important, even if the hug told the story well enough.

“Always, Geralt,” He answered with a small smile, one that Geralt surprisingly matched. Jaskier cherished that smile, since the genuine ones were almost always meant purely for his eyes alone. He added gently, “You are no monster, you know this. I don’t make monsters become heroes in my ballads. I make men into heroes. You're my first muse that hasn’t needed much help with that.”

Geralt gave a grunt of approval, mirth swimming in his eyes. He weighed his words in his mind before admitting, “I heard what you said to Roach. Not that I was listening in… but enhanced senses can do that. I’m your Witcher, am I now?”

Jaskier’s cheeks turned bright red, and he shrugged. “I-I mean… Well, I was only being sentimental! You know how I am: Emotional and clingy. It’s merely a word, Geralt.”

Geralt laughed, another surprising display of amusement in front of the bard. This, of course, only made Jaskier’s blush brighter. The Witcher grumbled, “A shame, then. I was going to name you my bard, but if they’re just words…”

Jaskier’s eyes widened in shock, and he couldn’t help the sense of giddiness that ran through him. He squeaked, actually squeaked, and nodded at his new title happily. Jaskier was utterly thrilled at their newfound understanding and grateful their friendship hadn’t been stunted for long. In an act of boldness, the bard hopped up on the tips of his toes and kissed his cheek. This was definitely something friends did. What was a kiss between friends, after all?

“I’ll gladly be your bard,” Jaskier purred, resting his hand on Geralt’s forearm. “But can I ride Roach to the next inn?”

Geralt looked as though his brain was still stuck on Jaskier’s extra affections, blinking once, twice, thrice, before nodding absentmindedly. If he were present in the moment, he probably would have said no. But, seeing as he was still trying to prove that he meant his promise, he gave Jaskier a boost on Roach’s back. The Witcher gave the horse a pat on her neck, silently thanking her for having brought them together again. Roach gave a tiny huff, showing Geralt that she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Do I also get to braid your hair? I feel it’s only fair after everything,” Jaskier called down to Geralt, giving Roach a gentle kick. “I know you act like you hate it, but how could anyone hate someone playing with their hair for hours? And your poor bard needs something relaxing to do after this mess of an adventure. Speaking of which, there’s still a story I have to collect. Perhaps this time…”

Geralt gave a small grunt, allowing Jaskier to continue his chatter. The man was listening, but just barely. He appreciated the bard’s voice more than the babbling itself. It was soothing, and it ultimately reminded Geralt that Jaskier would remain with him. The Witcher walked alongside the bard, keeping a hand near Jaskier’s leg at all times. For the moment, he could forget about Yennefer and the Child Surprise that awaited him. Now, he would stick to taking contracts, providing exciting tales for the bard beside him. The rest would, eventually, fall into place. With Jaskier next to him, he was almost sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I hope y'all enjoyed this one. Kudos, comments, and criticisms are always welcome. As always, have a lovely day!


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